


Holding Darkness Within

by dustofwarfare, Piscaria



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a haunted house, Ciel and Sebastian face an enemy who threatens even Sebastian’s considerable abilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Holding Darkness Within**

_“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”_

___

 

Sebastian stood in the center of the room, impeccably put together as always; from the top of his perfectly starched cravat, to the elegant lines of his black tailcoat and the spotless white of his gloves. 

Even the pistol he was holding, the barrel sighted right between Ciel’s eyes, was oiled to gleaming perfection, every bit as glossy as his dark black hair in the bright afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ciel’s office. 

Those same windows reflected the only thing slightly out of place about the entire image he presented (besides the deadly -- and loaded -- weapon he aimed at his master) -- the slight hint of fang in his smile, the malicious glow in his copper eyes. He couldn’t quite help it, there was something so deliciously thrilling about threatening Ciel with a weapon, even though they both knew very well he wasn’t going to use it. 

Even without the contract, the very thought of bringing down his prey with a human weapon was insulting. Still, it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, even more so when he fixed Ciel with that slightly sinister smile and said, “Come along, young master. Disarm me.” 

Ciel eyed the gun in Sebastian’s hand like he might study a chessboard. Through their bond, Sebastian could practically feel the rapid-fire shuffle of his thoughts as he searched for a solution to the puzzle his demon had provided him with. They both knew that taking the gun by force would be nearly impossible -- even against a human opponent, Ciel would nearly always be outmatched when it came to brute strength. 

Feigning a move to the left, Ciel tried to dart in on Sebastian’s right and disarm him. But Sebastian kept pace with him easily, his aim never wavering from Ciel’s forehead. His usual frown deepening, Ciel dropped low, clearly hoping to duck in under Sebastian’s guard. Athleticism had never counted among Ciel’s many strengths, however, and Sebastian did not even need to draw on his demonic speed to keep him in the gun’s sight. With a huff of impatience, Ciel rushed towards Sebastian, clearly no longer even trying to evade the gun’s aim as he reached for the barrel.

“Young master, really,” Sebastian scolded, eyebrows raised as he easily moved the gun from Ciel’s reach. “I’m not certain why you chose to throw yourself headlong into a bullet, but that doesn’t seem to be a very effective strategy. The point of the exercise is to _avoid_ being shot, perhaps I did not make that quite clear.” 

A few close calls of late had motivated Sebastian to try and teach Ciel at least a few self-defense tactics -- which was clearly going to be a challenge, given his master’s apparent death wish. “All right, try again.” Sebastian sighted the gun, tongue pressing lightly against his fangs, eyes beginning to glow. “Perhaps I should wound you, so that you have a healthier understanding of why bullets are best avoided, my lord.” 

“You will not shoot me,” Ciel said with a poisonous glare. Still visibly fuming, he returned to stand again before his immense mahogany desk. It had seemed appropriate to stage this lesson in a room where Ciel’s lack of defensive techniques had led to his subsequent kidnapping and beating, and though Ciel had scowled at Sebastian’s choice of a classroom, he hadn’t disagreed. Turning once more to face Sebastian, Ciel flicked his gaze to the demon’s right so obviously that he might as well have stated his intention to feint in that direction aloud. Then, with a quick motion of his arm, he seized the ink bottle from the desk’s surface and heaved it at Sebastian with all of the strength in his skinny thirteen-year-old body. 

He had, no doubt, been aiming for Sebastian’s head. But even his lessons with Dagger had failed to improve Ciel’s accuracy in anything but darts. The crystal bottle shattered against Sebastian’s firm chest, splattering his white shirt and silk waistcoat with the deep blue ink Ciel favored and raining shards of glass around his feet. At the same time, Ciel raced forward and seized the barrel of the gun, his expression of triumph fading as he faced the problem of how to actually pry it from Sebastian’s hand. 

Admittedly, Sebastian could have evaded Ciel’s sudden projectile, saving himself the trouble of ink-stained livery and the inevitable errand to procure more ink for his lordship’s correspondence. But it wasn’t a bad idea for his young master to see his rather haphazard plan out to the end, as ill-conceived as it might be. To Ciel’s credit, he _was_ attempting to find non-traditional weapons and capitalize on the element of surprise...but it was hard to trick a demon, and admittedly, even a human with murderous intentions wouldn’t be much harmed by a stain. 

Ciel once again attempted to relieve Sebastian of the weapon by grabbing the barrel, which tempted Sebastian to discharge it and catch the bullet at the last moment, just to prove a point. 

“That was better,” Sebastian allowed, lifting the gun slightly higher and out of Ciel’s reach. “Though, my lord, you may wish to hurl something at my head that shall do a bit more damage than an _inkpot_.” He quirked a brow. “They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but a paperweight to the head might be a better choice, in a pinch.” 

“I _hoped_ it would get in your eyes,” Ciel muttered, glaring up at the gun Sebastian held over his head. 

“Then perhaps young master should have aimed for my face,” Sebastian said blandly, “instead of my chest.”

Wicked amusement gleamed in Ciel’s eye. Dragging the eye patch up to his forehead to expose his marked eye, he held his hand out. 

“Sebastian, give me the gun. That is an order.”

His contract mark flared to life, burning hot beneath the cool silk of his glove in response to Ciel’s command. Sebastian raised it to his mouth and caught the edges of the silk with his teeth, tugging the glove off slowly. 

“The point of the exercise is for you to disarm an attacker, my lord, who will not be bound by a contract into obeying your every whim.” Sebastian, compelled by the power of their infernal bond to obey, handed over the gun to a smirking Ciel. . His vision altered as his pupils slitted, his eyes beginning to burn with hellfire. “Should you try this with someone who bears you ill will, they will likely laugh at you before putting a bullet in your brain...and I know how you dislike being laughed at, my lord.” 

“It makes no difference that others are not bound by a contract, as long as _you_ are.” Ciel plucked the gun from Sebastian’s hand as delicately as he’d choose a treat from a silver tray. “We both know you can’t allow me to be killed, so it’s useless to suggest otherwise. As for aiming for the head . . .” 

He cocked the pistol with practised ease, pulling the trigger and burying a bullet in the middle of Sebastian’s forehead. Blood splattered Ciel’s cheek and hair, and Ciel made a face. 

The bullet penetrated his human facade, but was quickly absorbed into the dark, ethereal matter that made up Sebastian’s true form. It wasn’t painful, necessarily, but the aggression behind the act stirred up Sebastian’s predatory instincts and made him take a threatening step towards his young master, eyes narrowed and burning hot as cinders. 

The inky substance covering Ciel wasn’t blood, exactly, but would probably appear so to his human master. The sight roused other, more possessive instincts and made Sebastian briefly consider winding himself, serpent-like, around Ciel in order to lick it off of him. But he liked the way it clung to Ciel’s face and hair like cobwebs, marking him as Sebastian’s as surely as the violet glow in his eye. 

Still. The point of the exercise was for Ciel to practice disarming an attacker, not his contracted demon. The little brat hated to lose, so Sebastian wasn’t surprised that things had escalated as quickly as they had, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand. 

“That was an adequate shot,” Sebastian said, holding his hand to his mouth and dispelling the bullet into his palm. He handed it back to Ciel with a bow. “Reload your weapon, my lord, and attempt a similar one while I am doing something other than standing still directly in front of you.” 

Ciel nodded without argument, apparently pleased with getting to shoot Sebastian a second time. Reloading the gun, he crossed back to his desk.

Sebastian had a half-formed plan to leap up into the air, hang upside down from the chandelier and snatch the gun before Ciel could manage to fire a single shot. But before Sebastian could set his plan into motion, a knock came from the door.

“Young Master?” Mey Rin called nervously. 

Ciel’s eyes widened, and he pulled his eyepatch back on, smearing gore across his face. “Didn’t you tell them that we were to remain undisturbed?” 

“Perhaps the unexpected gunshot roused their interest,” Sebastian said, striding briskly towards the door before Mey Rin could enter. He opened it, filling the doorway so that Ciel was not in her line of sight. “Yes, Mey Rin?” 

“I -- I’m ever so sorry, Mister Sebastian, but a letter came for the young master, it did,” she stammered, staring up at him with pinkened cheeks and a myopic gaze. It was impossible to tell if she noticed the blood or not. “It has the queen’s seal on it, yes it does, and that’s important!” 

A bother was what it was, but Sebastian said nothing, merely held out his hand for the letter. “Of course, I shall deliver it to his lordship at once.” 

Mey Rin made a squeaking noise and turned to go, but Sebastian called after her, “Mey Rin, if someone physically larger were to draw a gun on you and you were unarmed, what would you do?” 

“Kick it out of their hand, grab the gun and then shoot them in the head,” Mey Rin answered, without a single pause, stutter or stammer. 

Sebastian nodded, pleased. “Thank you. That will be all.” 

She bobbed a curtsy and hurried down the hallway. Sebastian sighed as he heard the sound of something crashing as he closed the door. Those three were the closest thing possible to a headache for a demon, honestly. “You’ve a letter from the queen,” Sebastian said, turning towards Ciel. 

Another shot answered him. This time, Ciel hit him squarely in the chest. Had Sebastian been human, the bullet would, no doubt, have passed through his body and splintered the oak door behind him. 

Setting the pistol on the desk with an air of self-satisfaction, Ciel took the sealed envelope, reaching for the letter opener on his desk. However, the momentary triumph on his face quickly transformed into surprise, and then irritation, as he read the queen’s letter. “Honestly,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then, to Sebastian, “And why am I still covered in your blood? Clean me up!” He lifted his face to his butler. 

Sebastian placed the bullet on Ciel’s desk, then tugged his glove off with his teeth. “Perhaps young master should learn to shoot from farther away, so as to avoid such messes in the future.” He traced his fingers slowly across Ciel’s face and through his hair, drawing the remnants of that dark essence back into himself. 

A shiver ran through Ciel as Sebastian’s bare fingers moved over his face, and his eyes fluttered shut. Sebastian could smell the bloom of pheromones in his master’s adolescent body, could see his pink tongue as it unconsciously darted out to wet his bottom lip. He briefly caressed the side of Ciel’s cheek with the back of his fingers, a bit slower than necessary. This was a recent development, and one which Sebastian found quite enjoyable. For a moment, the two of them hesitated thus, Ciel leaning into Sebastian’s touch. 

“Sebastian,” Ciel murmured, his voice reluctant, but also firm. It was a tone Sebastian had grown increasingly familiar with in the last few weeks, as they found themselves in similar situations with increasing regularity. Sebastian pulled away, and Ciel opened his eyes. For a moment, he regarded Sebastian with a mix of affection and trepidation. Then his shoulders straightened, and his expression was, again, all business. Wordlessly, he reached for the letter on his desk, handing it to Sebastian. 

Queen Victoria only sent Ciel letters when she wanted him to undertake some sort of mission; and that usually involved danger to his young master, of which Sebastian was not the cause. Perhaps it was the sight of Ciel with that indistinct substance that was so inherently Sebastian’s still covering his face and hair, but the thought of anyone else putting Ciel in danger made Sebastian’s eyes flash crimson, pupils slitting as he read the letter.

> My dear boy,
> 
> We hope you have recovered fully from that incident in Germany. It troubled us greatly to hear that you’d been exposed to chemical weapons. We truly hope this next mission will be a happier one for you.
> 
> As I’m sure you know, we have often consulted mediums to pierce the veil separating the dead from the living and pass messages from those whom we have lost. The most skilled of these, Hugh Crain, has recently purchased a manor haunted by troubled souls, who were not as fortunate as our dear husband in journeying into the Beyond. This next week, he will be hosting an intimate gathering in his new home so that guests can witness the mysterious happenings that take place within the manor. He has called for believers and skeptics alike to join him in this gathering, and when he, by chance, mentioned his plans to us, our thoughts naturally turned to you. The presence of one as quick-witted and publically dubious of the supernatural such as yourself would surely be a credit to this gathering. Privately, we hope also that you might avail yourself of Crain’s services, as we have, and communicate with those whom cruel fate has stripped from you far before their proper time. 
> 
> Fondly,  
>  Queen Victoria  
> 

“The queen wishes you to validate the services of a medium?” Sebastian waited for this to strike him as amusing, but his hackles were still metaphorically raised and he couldn’t seem to find the humor. “Perhaps England should start some sort of war, and engage Her Majesty’s attention in something more worthwhile.”

Sebastian had little interest in the dead, but he did quite like war. The English used to be much more reliable on that front; it was a pity they were so easily distracted. 

“It’s not for us to criticize Her Majesty’s wishes,” Ciel responded automatically, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. He dropped his chin to his fist, frowning down at the letter once more. As the queen said, Ciel had publicly stated his distaste for spiritualists on several public occasions. At a dinner party, Sebastian had once heard him refer to mediums as "vultures who scavenge from the weak and grief-stricken,” and, after receiving an invitation to a seance from one of Madame Red’s friends at a ball, Ciel had scoffed, “Save that bit of drama for someone foolish enough to believe in it!”

Now, Ciel gave a heavy sigh. “If the queen wishes me to attend this gathering, I can’t very well refuse. I will attend, and I’ll be every bit the skeptic this Crain fellow hoped for. It shouldn’t be difficult to prove he’s a charlatan. As the queen's watchdog, it’s my duty to protect Her Majesty from those who would deceive her, even if she finds such deception pleasant. Make the necessary arrangements,” he told Sebastian. Dark amusement flickered in his visible eye as he added, “No doubt you’ll be quite at home in a haunted house."

“On the contrary,” Sebastian said, bowing to show he understood Ciel’s wishes. “I am a demon, my lord. We are creatures of the earth, and the realm of the dead is not known to us. If there are indeed ghosts to be found, I’m afraid the only one of us who shall see them is you.” 

* * *

If Hugh Crain had been specifically looking for a foreboding manor to pass off as haunted, then he’d certainly succeeded, Ciel reflected, as the carriage turned a corner and he looked upon Lionstone Manor for the first time. Something about the building seemed strangely _wrong_ to his eyes, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Where the clean lines of the Phantomhive manor had clearly been built to convey an impression of harmony, strength, and dignity (and, indeed, conveyed those things still, despite its dark rebirth at Sebastian’s hands), each element of this house seemed to strain against the others, as though the architect had hastily pasted together several different blueprints. Combined with the dismal gray stonework and the overgrown grounds surrounding it, the manor felt twisted, diseased, and feral. Even the twin stone lions flanking the door, for whom the manor had been named, loomed with raised hackles and suspicious eyes, as likely to attack a guest as to welcome one.

Sebastian’s face showed his clear disapproval in the state of Lionstone Manor as the carriage came to a stop, and his voice was derisive when he said, “Lord Crain is either in desperate need of a competent staff, or far too besotted by the lurid descriptions of ghostly residences found in penny dreadful novels. Honestly, if he thinks his guests are too stupid to recognize such obvious pandering….I foresee this shall be a brief investigation indeed, young master.” 

The doors to the carriage opened, and Sebastian uncoiled his long, black-clad limbs and exited the carriage to place the steps for his master to alight. As he held his gloved hand up to Ciel, there was no hint of either scorn or invitation in his expression or voice, both of which were suitably appropriate and bland. “Do be careful, young master,” he admonished, helping Ciel down from the carriage. “The ground is a bit uneven in places.” 

That was an understatement. Without the guiding hand, Ciel would most certainly have tripped on the rubble that made up the manor’s drive.

“Welcome,” a voice intoned, as if the speaker meant not a word of the traditional greeting. “You must be Lord Phantomhive. I am Dudley, his lordship’s steward.” 

The steward was every bit as off-putting as the manor he served, with lank, greasy hair falling around his face and a long, hooked nose. Ciel gave him a curt nod, and Dudley accompanied him to the front door, while Sebastian followed with Ciel's luggage. The massive oak door creaked ominously as the steward opened it for them, and Ciel rolled his eyes. 

Inside the foyer, a man nearly as tall as Sebastian poised before a massive stairway of dark-stained wood, flanked on either side by wrought-iron railings whose elaborate design suggested thorny vines. Everything about him seemed intended to convey a sense of deep supernatural insight, from his jacket lined with violet silk to his deep-set, strangely luminous dark eyes. He blinked at the sight of Ciel, obviously startled by his age, as were many who'd heard the exploits of the queen's watchdog without meeting him in person. He recovered quickly, however, smiling warmly.

"Lord Phantomhive! Welcome! I am so deeply honored that you've graced this troubled home with your presence. I am Hugh Crain, the owner of this estate." His handshake was firm, but not crushing, as Ciel had often experienced from men in the underworld who seemed, as a whole, determined to try intimidating him. 

"Mr. Crain," Ciel acknowledged.

"I am so looking forward to introducing you to the spectral presences within this home," Crain continued. 

Ciel harrumphed. "Let's get one thing straight. I am here because Her Majesty indicated the need for a skeptic to be present. I don't believe in ghosts, Mr. Crain, and quite frankly, I am a difficult person to fool."

Crain only chuckled, giving Ciel another warm smile. "That is exactly what I'd hoped to hear! Her Majesty did say that if I could convince you of the authenticity of these phenomena, I could convince anybody! But I shall let the evidence speak for itself. Dudley here will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be at seven o'clock."

Sebastian remained alert as they traversed the dark hallways, as if expecting an errant ghost to leap out at Ciel and attempt some insidious act upon his person. Or, rather, an individual disguised as an errant ghost; the entire thing, from the decor of the manor to the sombre steward, the unkempt grounds to the genteel host, was too overdone to be genuine. 

Still, Sebastian cast his devil’s gaze in the nooks and crannies as they proceeded to the (drafty, dimly-lit and _dusty_ ) chamber that was to be Ciel’s for the duration of their stay. Dudley left them with a forlorn bow and a funereal reminder of the dinner hour, and Sebastian’s placid expression slid away like water from a stone the second the appropriately heavy door was pulled shut. 

“I cannot speak to the existence of ghosts in this manor, young master, but I know a thing or two about evil and the places in which it resides,” Sebastian said bluntly, arranging Ciel’s luggage and looking around in displeasure. “And there is something here that I find deeply unsettling.” 

Using his demonic powers, Sebastian removed a great deal of dust from the furniture and bedclothes. “Though it could be the idea that such a room is appropriate for an earl. How offensive. I am suitably aggrieved on your behalf, young master. And I do not think it much of an exaggeration to say that I was newly sprung from the Pit of Hell itself, the last time these linens were properly laundered.” 

Sebastian’s garnet eyes gleamed in the shadows, and the demon was fairly vibrating with displeasure. “Though I have been assigned my own room with the other servants of Lord Crain’s guests, your devil shall remain by your side, my lord, even while you sleep -- for I am wary of what awaits you here, be it the supernatural or a recurrence of his lordship’s asthma.” 

"I've slept in worse places," Ciel said darkly, although upon a closer inspection of the bed, he amended, "but do something about those sheets before night time, Sebastian." Curiously, he peered through the narrow window. His room overlooked something that had probably once been a rose garden, though now seemed merely a briar patch. Ciel shook his head. "Does he honestly think _I'll_ be fooled by such blatant stage dressing?" 

Turning away from the window, Ciel looked at Sebastian. "No doubt, he'll try something in here tonight. Don't let anyone see that you're staying with me, Sebastian. I want Crain to believe I'm alone and defenseless. The sooner he tries to scare me and we expose him for the fraud he is, the sooner we can go home. Search the house. Look for invisible threads, trick mirrors, that sort of thing. Don't destroy any of them yet -- just locate them and report back to me. I want a better idea of what to expect."

Sebastian gave a low bow. “Yes, my lord.” His began putting Ciel’s things away in the wardrobe, fingers pressing on the joints and creases of the wood to make sure there were no hidden passages. The wardrobe passed his inspection, so he focused on the rest of the room, making a face at the overall condition of the furnishings. 

“How could any spectre wish to inhabit such a terribly filthy space?” Sebastian muttered, shaking out a blanket draped over a chair in the corner. The motion kicked up a spectacular amount of dust, causing Sebastian to make a strange sound that was part snarl, part hiss, and wholly inhuman. 

Ciel’s eye widened, and he looked up from his notes, mouth twisting in amusement. “Did you just sneeze?” 

Sebastian’s face was unreadable. “Even demons are affected by dust. Hell is much more presentable, and as you know,I would never allow Phantomhive Manoranor to become as filthy.”

“I should hope not,” Ciel huffed, turning back to his notes.

* * *

Sebastian left Ciel with his notes and stern instructions not to go wandering about, more because of the dust than any threat to his safety. Though Sebastian could not shake the uneasiness that had settled around him since the first moment they’d entered this decrepit manor; hopefully, his investigations would reveal the source of his discomfort so he could focus on the task at hand. 

The hallways were just as dark and drafty as the rest of the manor, though Sebastian had no trouble finding his way around with the aid of his demonic senses. It would be rather difficult for anyone who wasn’t a devil to avoid running into the numerous pieces of furniture positioned against the walls. Sebastian could think of no reason for their presence, other than to gather dust. 

As one would expect, there were candle sconces on the wall, with messy wax drippings clinging to the wrought iron. _No clinging cobwebs? How disappointing._

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he caught sight of an odd pattern behind the sconce. It was too subtle for anyone else to notice, given how dark it was in the hall, but Sebastian’s senses could detect the faint outlines easily enough. 

The faint outlines of a gaslight wall bracket.

No one would replace gaslight with candle sconces, unless they were attempting to create the illusion of a haunted mansion trapped in the last century. Sebastian smiled, pleased at finding this first small hint of Crain’s trickery; it wasn’t the sort of damning evidence that would end this charade, but it was a start. 

Sebastian forced himself to pay a bit more attention to the dust as he walked along, despite his aversion to the substance. The feeling of dread had not dissipated, but Sebastian did not think a change in lighting was the reason behind it. Something prickled at the back of his neck, and for a moment he was tempted to shed his form because it felt for all the world like something was hunting him. 

No ghost would affect a demon in such a way; Sebastian did not know what happened to souls that were not consumed, for once they left the human body they were no longer of any interest. Demons were not given to attacking each other, not without provocation, and Sebastian would know if another of his kind were anywhere near. Whatever this was, it wasn’t human _or_ demonic, which was vaguely unsettling. 

There were humans who knew of demonic magic, either taught while under contract or simply on a devil’s whim, and while it was unlikely such a thing was at work here, Sebastian could not dismiss the thought out of hand. He would not share that with Ciel unless his master asked him in such a way that he could not avoid answering, for the boy needed no other means by which to tether his demon and would likely be made curious by the existence of such magic. Their contract was strong enough as it was. 

Sebastian realized abruptly that he was standing still in the shadows of the hallway as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture pushed up against the wall. Sebastian hissed and bared his teeth, then composed himself and continued his slow progression down the manor’s eerily still hallway in search of the servants of the other guests. 

He found them in the kitchen, as he might have expected, but without the usual chatter and boisterous laughter common in similar situations. Sebastian had spent plenty of time in the presence of other servants to recognize a particularly dour group when he saw one. 

Sebastian put on his most benign, pleasant expression and walked into the kitchen with a polite bow. “Hello. I am Sebastian Michaelis, butler to the Earl of Phantomhive.” 

Stares greeted him in response. 

Sebastian was a devil, a creature for whom pride was not a sin but a virtue; and he had his fair share of it, especially when it came to his appearance (human or demonic). To be given such a blank stare in response to his greeting was offensive and utterly lacking in manners.

 _It’s as if this house exists simply to vex me_ , Sebastian thought, letting none of his irritation show on his features. He smiled even more pleasantly, entertaining himself with the thought of eviscerating the lot of them. He had no interest whatsoever in their souls, as dull and unremarkable as they were, but the thought of sinking talons into flesh eased his momentary ire. 

“Hullo,” one of the servants offered, finally, standing up to shake Sebastian’s hand. His chair made an unpleasant noise as it scraped on the floor. “I’m Lucas. I’m Viscount Druitt’s....valet.” 

_Druitt? Oh, my. My young master shall be most surprised_. Images of Ciel in that ridiculous gown, narrow waist and slim hips encased in the corset, flashed in his mind. Sebastian had to stop from showing a hint of fang when he shook Lucas’s hand. Lucas was an attractive young man, with delicate features and fair hair, exactly the sort of _valet_ he would expect the licentious viscount to employ. 

“Awfully young to be a valet,” mumbled another one of the servants, an older woman with a fierce scowl. “Awful young t’be a butler, too.” She peered with narrow-eyed suspicion at Sebastian.

 _I have seen cities burn that even your ancestors never knew existed, human._ “The joy I take in my service to his lordship keeps my countenance ever-young, ma’am,” Sebastian said, which was true enough. “And you are….?” 

“Linnie,” the woman said, a rather whimsical name for one so dour. “I’m Lady Helena’s maid.” 

_Druitt, Lady Helena, Crain, my young master...and a fourth, as yet unknown._

“M’Merricat,” the youngest of the servants said. She was a sturdy, homely girl who looked as if she’d spent more time in a kitchen than a manor house, but he bowed over her hand as if she were a lady -- Sebastian knew with a predator’s certainty when he came across the weakest in a herd, and it might be worthwhile to have an ally. “I’m from town. Lord Crain hired me to be Miss Theodore’s lady’s maid.” Her eyes were very round. “Never done that before. Hope I don’t do nothing wrong.” 

“Hmph,” said Linnie scowling with her arms folded over her ample bosom. “Too young, the lot of you. And Merricat isn’t a proper name, girl. This is a fancy house. You need a regular name, if you’re going to serve in a fancy house.” 

Merricat sat down, eyes downcast. “Mary Catherine,” she said in a whisper, pulling at the edges of her crisp, starched uniform. 

“I think Merricat is a lovely name,” Sebastian told her, with just a hint of wickedness in his smile, as if it were for her alone. “I am, as it happens, quite fond of cats.” 

“Cats are only good for two things. Killin’ mice and makin’ other cats,” Linnie groused, shooting a mean look at the flustered young Mary Catherine. “Don’t want to name yourself after a cat, girl. It’ll make men think about…. _things_.” 

“We’ll know who to call if we need the mice taken care of, then,” Sebastian responded, smoothly enough, and the girl gave him another grateful smile. 

“We do not have mice.” That was from Dudley, the steward, who appeared -- dare one say, ghost-like -- in the kitchen. He didn’t sound offended as much as -- sepulchral. 

_So we have a steward who resembles a funeral director, a nobleman’s lover masquerading as a valet, a bitter woman with a young girl’s name, a spineless scullery maid from town...and a demon._

For a moment, Sebastian almost missed the other servants of Phantomhive Manor. It was certainly going to be an interesting weekend, ghosts or no. 

Excusing himself,, Sebastian made a mental map of the rooms on the ground level, memorizing the route to and from the kitchen, the parlor and the dining room, and took careful note of the location of the windows. The rooms on this level were lit by gas lights, except for one room; it was small in size, with a single table and a few chairs taking up most of the room. 

_No windows_ , Sebastian noted, scanning the room with his senses. He looked up, wondering what was above this particular room on the upper level and making note to check. 

“That room should be locked.” 

Sebastian turned slowly to find Dudley staring at him with those gloomy eyes of his, mouth set in a grim line. “My apologies. I am simply trying to learn my way around.” 

“That room should be locked,” Dudley repeated. “Lord Crain unlocks it when he wants to use it. No one else.” 

Sebastian pulled the door shut, stepping back into the hallway. “Of course,” he said, as contritely as possible, though he wondered why precisely the door was open in the first place, if Lord Crain was nowhere to be found. 

“That room should be locked,” Dudley said, again, as if he were some sort of automaton. 

“You did mention that,” Sebastian agreed, keeping any hint of sarcasm well away from his words. It wouldn’t do to arouse the steward’s suspicion this early on in the investigation. 

“...but sometimes it isn’t. Even when it should be.” 

_How tastefully dramatic. Crain should take a page from his steward’s book, which is less theatrical than the penny dreadful novels from which he’s apparently gleaning his decorating tips._

“I shall avoid entering any room in which my presence is not requested or invited,” Sebastian told him, because Dudley was still staring at him as if he expected a response. 

Dudley gave a slow smile and made a wheezing sort of sound that Sebastian figured was intended to be a laugh. “That might be harder than you think, Mister Michaelis,” he said mysteriously, and turned to amble off into the dark of the hallway. 

Sebastian watched him go, resisting the urge to clap slowly as he did so. An inspired performance, truly. 

On a whim, he reached out to try the doorknob again. It was locked. 

Sebastian smiled, tongue pressing against the edges of his fangs. _Ah. Now that is much more interesting, indeed._

_* * *_

Wearing a fresh, dove-grey jacket and matching pair of short trousers, walking stick in hand, Ciel made his way to the parlor, where Crain had suggested they meet before dinner. The house was like a maze, nearly identical doorways leading from one room to the next. Sebastian led him unerringly to the parlor, though, where Crain was already seated, laughing with a woman in a yellow evening dress. They both rose as Ciel entered, and Crain gave him, again, that too-familiar smile. 

"Lord Phantomhive! Let me introduce you to one of our other investigators of the supernatural. This is Théodore." He spoke the name as though Ciel should already be familiar with it, and Ciel had to suppress a frown of irritation as Théodore ducked into a brief curtsy. With only a first name, he had no idea of her station or how he was supposed to address her. Between the gold embroidery on her yellow, silk gown and the diamonds sparkling at her throat and earlobes, she lit the small, dusty parlor like a beam of sunlight. But fine clothes didn't necessarily mean status, or even money. She’d certainly taken a heavier hand with her cosmetics than any proper lady would. Her lips gleamed the color of fresh blood, and smudged kohl outlined her wide, green eyes. 

Fortunately, she spoke first, dropping into a small curtsy. "Lord Phantomhive!" she said, in a thick French accent. "I had heard that the infamous queen's watchdog was an adorable boy, but I had no idea how adorable!" The smile she flashed him seemed designed to take the sting of impertinence out of the words, all faint mischief and sparkling eyes, like they shared a private joke. If Ciel had been almost anyone else, it would probably have worked. 

Instead, he hid his annoyance behind a bland smile, and offered her his hand.He'd been well raised, even if she clearly hadn't. Dimpling, she allowed him to kiss her hand. 

" _Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance, Mademoiselle_ . . ." he hesitated, and, for lack of a family name, let the greeting trail off somewhat awkwardly. 

"It is only Théodore," she replied, also in French. "I am an actress, you see. Perhaps you may have heard of me?" 

"I'm afraid I rarely make it to the theatre." Ciel did not bother to layer any false regret into his voice. "My work keeps me very busy." 

"Such a shame, for a boy so young! What is it you English say? All work and no play--" 

"Is often necessary." 

A vibrant laugh bubbled out of her, and she threw her head back unapologetically, shoulders shaking with mirth. "I like him," she said, switching back into English as she addressed Crain. "You always invite the most delightful guests!" 

Ciel scowled at being spoken of as if he weren't in the room, but before he could speak, she turned back to him, again smiling as if they were old confidantes. 

"And you speak French beautifully, cherie! My compliments to your tutor!" 

With effort, Ciel refrained from turning to glare at Sebastian, who was, no doubt, sniggering quietly into his hand behind him. "Thank you," he murmured icily, deciding to let the "cherie" slide, at least for now. If Crain viewed him as a child, he would put less effort into covering his tricks. Then Ciel could go home, to his comfortable manor and his library full of books. 

Glancing up at someone behind Ciel's shoulder, Théodore beamed, crying, "Oh, Helena! You look lovely!" 

"Like a rose in first bloom," a familiar, cultured voice agreed. 

Ciel stiffened, casting a despairing look at Sebastian, whose expression was not entirely as surprised as it should have been. _You knew he was here and you didn’t even warn me, you bastard_ , Ciel thought, glaring hard at Sebastian before smoothing out his expression to face the newcomers to the parlor. 

"Viscount Druitt," he said through gritted teeth. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

"Lord Phantomhive," Druitt exclaimed, taking Ciel’s reluctantly offered hand in both of his. "It's been too long, truly!" Releasing Ciel, he held out his hand, drawing forward a young woman in a red dress. "Let me introduce you to this lovely young robin," Druitt said, and Ciel repressed a shudder at the memory of the last time he'd heard Druitt call someone a robin. "This is Lady Helena Troy." 

Lady Helena couldn't have been more than a year older than Ciel, if that, with large, frightened eyes that darted to his face, then quickly away again. She curtsied, ducking her head shyly. 

"Lord Phantomhive," she murmured, voice scarcely louder than a whisper. She blushed prettily when he kissed her hand. 

"Well, this is everybody!" Crain beamed in satisfaction. "Shall we head into the dining room? Viscount Druitt, you're seated next to Lady Helena. Lord Phantomhive, would you be so good as to escort Théodore?" 

"Of course," Ciel said, offering his arm. She had to bend slightly to take it, but did not seem the least nonplussed, giving him a cheeky wink as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

Ciel had hoped the dining room, at least, might be marginally less disgusting than the rest of the house, but that, sadly, not the case. The wrinkled cloth spanning the long dining table had yellowed with age, and roses drooped in tarnished silver vases. Dust and spiderwebs clung so thickly to the chandelier that Ciel half feared a spider might drop into his soup, though he felt reasonably certain Sebastian's sense of aesthetics would not allow that to happen. 

The seat Ciel pulled out for Theodore felt rickety beneath his hands, and a puff of dust rose up around him as he took his own seat. He sneezed, glaring in Crain's direction. Truly, the man knew nothing about how to properly intimidate people. Even before a demon took up residence there, the Phantomhive manor had intimidated plenty of unwelcome guests, polished to a shine all the while. 

"Oh!" Druitt sighed, clasping his hands to his chest before he took his own seat. "What despair must linger in the walls of this home! Truly, I sense the very bones of this house must resonate with sorrow! It's as dark and wretched as any story Poe ever penned. I feel we must be up for a fascinating stay indeed!" 

"As always, you are wonderfully attuned to supernatural resonation," Crain said, turning his warm smile on Druitt. "I knew I'd do well to invite an artist of such renowned sensitivity." 

"Sensitivity! How true! It is my blessing and my curse to admire true beauty when I find it, and even the dark stain of tragedy is lovely in its way!" 

"But is there tragedy here?" Théodore asked, leaning forward to gaze expectantly at Crain. "You haven't told us a thing about the history of this house!" 

"In good time," Crain said with an airy wave of his hand. "First, we must eat!" Even as he spoke, the heavy doors to the kitchen swung open with an ominous creak. With the other servants trailing behind him carrying bottles of wine and platters of oysters on the half shell, Dudley wheeled in a cart holding individual tureens of what turned out to be mock turtle soup. Sebastian leaned over Ciel’s shoulder to pour his wine, and Ciel noted with relief that the glasses, at least, were free from the dust coating the rest of the manor. Ciel lifted the lid from his soup tureen, trying to hide his trepidation. He’d been too well raised to sniff at the soup or poke around in it with his spoon to make certain there were no surprises hidden in the broth. Knowing that Sebastian would never let him eat anything poisonous, at least, Ciel lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a cautious sip -- only to relax as the rich flavors of broth and sweet herbs rolled over his tongue. 

“This is very good,” said Théodore, who apparently had never learned that it was impolite to talk about the food at dinner. 

Ciel nodded politely, while across the table, Druitt -- who certainly _did_ know better -- traced an elegant gesture in the air with his spoon. “Indeed! The delicate notes of the herbs and lemon nicely counter the richness of a broth, elevating a would-be simple dish like a rare beauty born of peasant stock! Exquisite!” 

“I find there is a deep connection between the body and the soul,” Crain intoned. “In order to properly view the spirits in this house and to shield ourselves from their dark energies, it is essential that we be well fed in both body and soul. That’s why I’ve hired a caterer for the occasion.” 

Ciel couldn’t resist a sideways glance at Sebastian, who certainly knew more of souls and their feeding than anyone else in the room. Sebastian met his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting briefly along with one dark brow. There was a brief flare of scarlet before he lowered his gaze demurely, as befitted a servant. 

“I did not get a chance to mention it earlier,” Théodore told Ciel, drawing his attention back to the table, “but you and I have a mutual acquaintance.” 

“Oh?” 

“You have employed the services of Nina Hopkins, no?” said Théodore. “That looks like one of her creations you are wearing.” 

Ciel lifted a hand to the lapel of his jacket, fingers brushing the silk ribbons trailing from his lace-trimmed boutonniere.“I really couldn’t tell you,” he said, letting a small quirk touch his mouth. “To be honest, my butler picks out all of my clothing. I pay little attention to what I wear. But yes, I am acquainted with Miss Hopkins. She has visited the manor several times for fittings. You know her?” 

Théodore ducked her head, her pale cheeks blushing prettily. “She is my roommate.” 

Ciel’s eyebrows lifted, for he’d heard Miss Hopkin state her preference for the female form, but he only said, “Please give her my regards, then.” 

“You are fortunate that your butler dresses you so well,” Druitt said to Ciel. “I find it truly disheartening how few men these days pay attention to the finer nuances of fashion. A gentleman should shine as magnificently, but as refined, as his home and wife, I think, yet . . .” and he proceeded to launch into a long-winded monologue about the deplorable state of men’s dress. 

As Sebastian leaned in to clear the place setting from the completed soup course, he murmured in a low voice meant only for Ciel’s ears, “Perhaps the viscount should hire a valet more adept at dressing his master than _undressing_ him.” Sebastian’s dark hair fell over his face, hiding his momentary wicked smile as he flicked his eyes towards Druitt’s valet, Lucas. 

Ciel followed his gaze to the handsome young man leaning rather impertinently against the wall, and had to bite the inside of his cheek hard. In the course of his business with the underworld, he had, of course, heard rumours of such scandalous relationships between masters and their servants. But there was a difference between knowing such things, theoretically, and having Sebastian -- outwardly the very picture of a prim and proper butler -- whispering such sinful secrets in his ear. He was sure he must be blushing, and he took a quick swallow of his wine to try and compose himself. 

Fortunately, Dudley was already bearing the second course into the room (and possibly Sebastian had timed that, as well, you never could tell), so if anybody noticed Ciel’s momentary discomposure, they were quickly distracted by the new platters of salmon with green peas and _filet de boeuf_ and mushrooms. 

Since assuming the earldom, Ciel had attended and thrown any number of dinner parties, and always found them tedious affairs. Given the choice, he would far prefer to eat a quick meal alone and retire early to his library than linger over small talk with a group of near-strangers. However, as Sebastian had reminded him several times, it was through such small, seemingly pointless social events that networks of power were woven and maintained. 

Druitt and Théodore had been engaged in a good-natured debate over the proper cut of men’s trousers, but as they both fell silent to admire the food, Ciel turned to Lady Helena, who had not yet spoken, though her dark, watchful eyes flitted attentively from speaker to speaker. 

“A haunted house seems a strange choice of amusements for a young lady. May I ask what brought you here?” 

She turned bright red upon being addressed directly, shoulders hunching inwards and chin lowering, as if she were trying to hide. A stern, reprimanding cough from the formidable matron standing behind her made Helena straighten her shoulders reluctantly. “My father was a friend of Lord Crain’s, and when he died, his lordship was kind enough to offer aid to my mother and I in our grief, through his talents with the unquiet dead.” 

_I’ll bet he did,_ Ciel thought, flicking a disgusted look at Crain. _And no doubt your grieving mother was willing to pay quite prettily for his assistance, too._

She looked around almost hesitantly, then said, “They are especially unquiet around me. My lady mother thinks perhaps that is why things happen, as they do, in our home.” 

“My lady,” the matron rumbled threateningly. “I don’t think it is appropriate to talk of such things -- not with an _earl_. What would her ladyship say if she were to hear you?” 

Ciel gave the matron a hard look. He would never permit Sebastian to reprimand him so in front of others. “This earl is more than capable of deciding for himself what he’d like to hear, Mrs. . . .” he paused in pointed acknowledgment that, even if she were of a rank to join them in their dinner conversation, she hadn’t even been properly introduced to him yet. 

“Linnie, your lordship,” she said, giving him a similar look right back. “I’m the young lady’s chaperone, and it’s bad enough we’re here in this house with no proper mistress. It’s a servant’s job to see to her mistress’s reputation. Likely even that smirky butler of yours would agree with _that_. My lord,” she added, after a pause. 

Sebastian chuckled softly in the darkness behind Ciel’s chair, but said nothing. 

“She means well,” Lady Helena said softly, voice no louder than a whisper. “She’s been very...protective, of me.” 

“Somebody’s got to be,” Linnie muttered, then wisely fell quiet. 

“And what brings you here, my lord?” Helena asked, still looking shyly at Ciel. “Are there spirits you wish to contact, with Lord Crain’s assistance?” 

Ciel scoffed. “Of course not! I don’t believe in ghosts. I am here simply as a skeptical observer.” He looked straight at Crain as he said, “And I will be on guard against any kind of trickery or deception, you can be certain of that.” 

Crain smiled beatifically at him. “Of course, my lord, of course. Only a man with something to hide would have it any other way. Why, if I can convince the queen’s watchdog of my God-given talent, then I should likely never need to prove myself again!” His smile faded, expression becoming one of concern. “But it is true that not everyone can commune with the spirits of the Beyond, and my lord, should you find this weekend that you dwell only in this Realm instead of any other...do take note of those around you, for some of us have feet that are not so strictly bound.” 

_And minds that are not so quick,_ Ciel thought, but he only gave a sharp smile, spearing a piece of salmon with his fork. “We shall see, Mr. Crain.” 

To Be Continued . . . 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Real life got the better of both of us for a bit there. We will try to be faster with the next installment.

After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room, as custom dictated, while Crain, Druitt, and Ciel remained at the long table. As Sebastian and the other servants cleared away the final remnants of the meal, Dudley drifted in, as silent and sepulchral as a funeral director, holding a wooden box of cigars. 

The smoking of pipes or cigars after a meal was one tradition in which Ciel had never participated. Upon assuming the earldom at the age of ten, he had initially begun making the rounds of dinner parties in the company of Madame Red, who had attended him throughout his asthmatic childhood in the capacity of doctor rather than aunt. She had warned their hosts that smoking would aggravate Ciel's condition and that, along with his age, excused him from joining in the ritual, though he often enjoyed a small glass of port or brandy with the other men. Typically, his hosts offered Ciel a sweet in place of a cigar, which suited him fine.

At the Phantomhive Manor,he always invited the male guests to withdraw to a downstairs study to smoke. Because of his young age, Ciel could refrain from joining them without too much insult, a fact which he used to his full advantage. Those brief respites from the exhausting posturing and inane small talk of the gathering afforded him the opportunity to prepare his next move in the tedious game of social maneuvering, and to confer with Sebastian, should the evening require the demon's special touch. Besides, Ciel had learned that guests, left to their own devices, tended to gossip about their host -- and in a house built by a demon, the walls could, quite literally, have ears.

But Crain did not belong to the select circle who regularly hosted the Earl Phantomhive or ate at his table, so as the highest ranked noble at the table, Ciel was offered the box first. He hesitated only a second, glancing down at the row of fragrant cigars. He'd always enjoyed the smell of tobacco, though he didn't much care for the scent of cigar smoke. But as a gentleman, Ciel would be expected to start smoking sooner or later -- his age would only excuse him for so long. He might as well start now. 

Making up his mind, Ciel plucked one from the box, inhaling the rich aroma. Discreetly, he watched Druitt select his own cigar and slice off the tip. As elegantly as a lady bending to sniff a rose, Druitt leaned forward to touch the trimmed end to the flickering flame of one of the candles set at intervals across the long table. There, he rotated it slowly until the a red glow lit the end. Pulling back, he lifted it to his mouth and inhaled before puffing out a perfect circle of smoke.

Ciel followed suit, trimming his own cigar and lighting it. He did rather enjoy the rare opportunities to play with fire. Rotating the cigar like he'd seen Druitt do had the desired effect, and soon the tip glowed red. Leaning back in his seat, Ciel brought it to his lips, sucking in a deep drag -- and promptly began to cough as the acrid smoke burned his throat and lungs.

Sebastian leaned in and nimbly plucked the cigar from Ciel’s fingers, materializing out of the shadows behind the table so naturally and demurely that none of the others noticed the space had been empty only seconds before. “My lord, I believe you tried a similar blend of tobacco at Lord Maddox’s gathering several weeks ago, and it did not seem to agree with you. Perhaps you might wish to abstain, as we did not bring any of your preferred blend with us.” 

Sebastian’s eyes were respectfully lowered as he bowed, but a small smile played over his mouth -- he of course knew that Ciel’s “preferred blend” was a chocolate biscuit or some other sweet. 

“I believe you’re right,” Ciel choked through his coughs, accepting the glass of water Sebastian handed him and drinking deeply. All in all, he was glad when the other men finished their cigars and Crain suggested they join the ladies. 

* * *

The drawing room might have once been cozy, but with no lady of the house to imbue it with warmth or arrange entertainment for the guests, it felt as gloomy and neglected as the rest of the house. A circle of chairs huddled around a fireplace which utterly failed to impart any warmth from its miserly flames -- indeed, Ciel found himself glad for the warm wool of his dinner jacket. He felt a bit sorry for the ladies, whose bare arms were visibly covered with goose flesh. Dust covered the piano sitting in one corner of the room, and the portraits hung on the wall seemed to glare down at the visitors. Indeed, Theodore and Lady Helena, who had been sitting close together on one of the sofas, conversing in hushed tones, seemed rather glad to have the men join them. 

"How soothing are the sounds of women's voices!” Druitt said, squeezing himself onto the sofa between them with a winsome smile. “I do hope no ghosts disturbed you while we were away!"

Lady Helena bit her lip and shook her head, inching slightly away from the older man.

Theodore laughed. "No ghosts yet! And what a prime opportunity -- the two of us all alone in this drafty room. I'm beginning to wonder if we'll see any at all!"

"In good time," Crain said. "Ghosts can be rather timid when visitors first enter a home -- they're rather like cats that way. Rest assured, they will become more active as they grow used to your presence."

More likely, Ciel thought, Crain himself had been too preoccupied with his cigar to bother manufacturing an illusion. He dropped into a chair across from Druitt and the women, then squirmed, trying to get comfortable. The cushion beneath him was flat and lumpy, its high back too straight. Ciel gave up trying to sit back, and instead leaned forward, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and planting his chin on his fist. In that pose, he listened, disinterested, as Druitt launched into a breathless review of his last seance. Rapt, the ladies leaned in to hear how Druitt had -- singlehandedly, he assured them -- uncovered the plight of an unfortunate maiden, murdered by an unfaithful fiancee and buried beneath an apple tree, there to seethe in the turmoil of betrayal until her bones were discovered and moved to holy ground.

Crain, to Ciel’s surprise, appeared equally uninterested in the story. No doubt he was dismayed by any mention of a rival medium. Their eyes met as Druitt leaped to his feet, pantomiming how the dead maiden had clasped her hands to her breast and wailed. 

“Do you play chess, Lord Phantomhive?” Crain asked quietly, inclining his head towards a handsome chess table in one corner.

"Yes," Ciel said, hopping to his feet. 

"I should warn you, I'm known as something of a fierce opponent! I won’t go easy on you,” Crain said, looking at Ciel with something bordering on pity. 

Ciel hardened his gaze. "I'll take my chances." 

Less than fifteen minutes later, he'd maneuvered his bishop into position and announced, "Checkmate," leaving Crain gaping at him from across the chessboard. The rest of the room had fallen silent watching them, Druitt having finished his story.

"Does anyone else want to play?" Ciel asked innocently. 

"After watching such a massacre?" Druitt sniffed. "I should hardly think so!" 

"Besides," Theodore said, "Mr. Crain was going to tell us about this house!"

"Yes," Lady Helena piped up. "Please do!" 

Crain looked a bit relieved, clearly eager to put the embarrassment of their chess game behind him. He stood up and began pacing, hands behind his back, looking for all the world like he was going to attempt a scholarly lecture. All he needed was a pair of spectacles -- perhaps he could borrow Sebastian’s. 

“The manor was built in the seventeenth century by a wealthy clothier from Halifax. It was rumored that he selected the location in order to harness the spiritual energy, as there was previously a monastery in this very same location. Which, it should be mentioned, was abandoned for unknown reasons -- even before the Crown ordered the dissolution of monasteries in the sixteenth century -- and later burned to the ground in the middle of the night. Local legend says the monastery was not abandoned, but rather the monks were entombed in the very walls and left to die...and therefore a curse settled over the land and the farms, and the fire was meant as a cleansing, to release their souls to heaven.” 

Ciel frowned darkly, remembering hot flames brightening the sky over his crumbling manor.

Not noticing his distress, Crain continued, “The man who built the original manor, which is much the same as you see it today, was known for his rather dissolute lifestyle; despite having a wife in residence and a mistress in London, he was known to entertain guests for several weeks to a month -- usually female, but not always -- and to host lavish parties. He was not well-liked in the town, as he tended to contract out for goods and services, rather than patronize local establishments. His wife died in childbirth, and he did not remarry but continued his rather ostentatious lifestyle.” Crain paused and looked around the room. “And then, two years before his eventual death, he suddenly became extremely religious -- and the whole of his hair turned white, apparently overnight. When asked by the locals why, he would only say that he had seen into the dark and beheld the horrors that awaited, and wished to repent of his earthly sins before his end.” 

Sebastian, who’d been in the room and listening with a bored sort of expression, met Ciel’s eyes from across the room. He cast his own upwards, in a momentary expression of exasperation. 

“The manor sat empty for some years after his death, but was eventually gifted to another favored lord...and then another, and another. For, you see, no master was able to hold this hall -- some tragedy always managed to befall them, and to a one, they died childless and alone….with hair as white as snow.” 

His dramatic recitation drew an appreciative murmur from the crowd -- and other slight casting of Sebastian’s eyes upwards. Clearly his butler had some opinions on this (likely highly exaggerated) tale, which he would share with Ciel in the privacy of their rooms. 

“The last master of Lionstone Hall was an exception -- he had a child, a son, who had moved to the continent some years back. He was a widower, and while not inclined towards lecherously, was supposedly into something else equally as destructive.” He paused again, theatrically, eyeing them all in turn, as if offering his guests the opportunity to _guess_ what vice the previous Lord had suffered from. 

“Was it drink?” asked Theodore, in a soft whisper, her hand on her chest -- almost as if following stage directions. 

“Oh no. Far more sinister than that,” Crain answered, clearly in his element. Perhaps he had engaged Theodore’s services so as to improve his presentation, which was entirely too long already and they were not even at the end of it. 

“Gambling,” guessed Ciel flatly. 

Crain shook his head. “That is what the locals would have you believe, Lord Phantomhive, that he was a gambler with no thought to his future. But the truth is, dear friends….he was into _black magic._ ” 

Another gasp, louder this time. 

“What sort of….did it involve terrible sacrifices and things?” Lady Helena asked, so quietly it was hard to hear her. 

Crain nodded gravely. “That is what the spirits who inhabit this house have led me to believe, in my communication with them. There is, they say, a dark center of energy that stirs beneath the earth...and has existed even longer than Britain.” 

Sebastian made a sound suspiciously like a cough, which meant he was likely hiding a chuckle. 

“The first monastery was not built to worship our Heavenly Father, but to keep that darkness safely contained. But through my communication with the spirits, it would seem as if the lure of power was too tempting for a few of the monks, and they began to secretly attempt to harness the energy for their own vile purposes. And, each generation thereafter, those who dwell at the heart of this evil are tempted by the same promise, and to a man, have all sadly succumbed to its lure. Even if, I’m sad to say, they repent of their actions and seek forgiveness, or try to denounce or ignore that which they have awoken, and fed with their malintent.” 

Crain gave them all a few moments to digest that, during which Sebastian was suddenly behind Ciel to refill his tea. 

“The danger of forming an open-ended contract,” Sebastian murmured, a bit wickedly, his hair once again hiding his slight smirk. 

Ciel’s lips twitched, and he lifted the teacup to his mouth to hide it. 

“So the spirits here, are they...the previous lords?” Theodore asked, settling back against the divan. “How dreadful, condemned to walk their former home with no hope of rest.” 

“Dreadful,” echoed Lady Helena, her eyes very wide. 

“Such tragedy!” Druitt exclaimed. “Noble men of God blinded by power and seduced by wickedness, cementing their all-too-human error into the very stones of this house so that all who live here are doomed to repeat it!” 

“This energy is like a tar trap, or a bog, such as they have in Ireland. Once caught within its murky depths, it is impossible to free oneself. The spirits of any who died in this house, even on the land before it, are imprisoned here. Some are faint, mere echoes of cultures long past...and some are as vivid as you or I, and were you to lay eyes upon them, you would think them simply one of our company instead of a spectre.” 

“Aren’t you afraid to become one of them?” Theodore asked, so perfectly timed that it really did appear as if she were responding to some verbal cue. 

Crain’s smile was appropriately grim. “There is danger, yes, but I am more equipped to deal with this evil than the lords before me. I seek a way to release these spirits to their eternal rest, if nothing else, as I do not think the evil energies that thrive here can be contained by any mortal means.” 

“The previous inhabitant, Lord Blackwood, knew something of the home’s reputation when he relocated from London, where he was supposedly a member of an occult organization whose traditions were based on freemasonry. His intentions were not to free the spirits, but exploit the energy for his own purposes…” Crain’s voice dropped once more to a theatrical whisper. “And it was rumored he wished to use this power to overthrow the Queen herself.” 

“But that did not happen, as he too was consumed from within by the evil he attempted to unleash. His spirit is here, but it is….unquiet. I would recommend, should you come across it, to immediately withdraw and do not engage it in conversation. For Lord Blackwood is one of those spirits who does not understand that he is dead, and he still seeks to complete the dark task to which he had committed.” 

As if on cue, a loud bangsounded from above, and the chandelier vibrated with an unpleasantly loud jingle of metal and crystal. 

 

On the couch, Theodore shrieked, catching hold of Druitt’s arm. Druitt’s own mouth had dropped open, and Lady Helena had stood, blanched even paler than normal. Even Ciel jumped despite himself, startled by the sudden sound after the low whisper of Crain’s voice. Scowling at having allowed Crain to get any sort of reaction from such an obvious play, he straightened in his chair, hoping the dramatics from the couch were enough to distract from his own, smaller, reaction. 

“Sebastian! Find out what’s making that racket!” No doubt, Crain had positioned the odious Dudley over the room with orders to cause a disturbance.

Sebastian bowed politely. “At once, my lord. If you will excuse me.” 

* * *

The moment he was out of the room, Sebastian made his way upstairs with inhuman quickness, hoping his unnatural speed would allow him to catch whoever may be up there in the act. 

The hallway was dark and quiet as he made his way towards the location of the room directly above the drawing room -- which, he realized with raised brows, was Ciel’s. 

_Interesting._

His demonic senses told him there was no one in the room -- no one _living_ , that was, for if there were indeed a ghost present, he would not be able to sense it. Still, the notion that a ghost was responsible for the perfectly-timed disturbance was ridiculous. If the ghost had that good a sense of timing, one would think the poor sod wouldn’t be dead in the first place. 

The room was quiet, lit only by the moonlight coming through the drapes -- which Sebastian was quite sure he’d drawn shut before they left for dinner, and which were now pulled apart and tied back as if he hadn’t. 

There was also the matter of the armoire, which was now lying face-down in the center of the room - likely over the spot where the chandelier hung below. 

Frowning, Sebastian tested the weight of it, too see how easy it was to move such a hulking (not to mention, dusty and unattractive) piece of furniture. It was easy for a creature of his strength to accomplish, but it would have been impossible for a single human to do so. Perhaps it could have been merely pushed over, but it would have needed to be moved some distance from where it resided against the far wall before being toppled. 

Curious. Sebastian left the armoire where it lay so that Ciel could take a look at it, and examined the back and the undersides for any sort of mechanism that would make moving it easier. 

He did not find any, but he _did_ see the slightest scratch on the wood floors from the sharp edges of the armoire, leading from its original position. So someone had dragged it, rather than moved it in some unnatural fashion -- but it still seemed preposterous to imagine it was a single person. How did they get into the room, drag the armoire, know precisely when to push it over and the vanish before Sebastian arrived upstairs, faster than anyone would have known he was capable of moving? 

It was perhaps feasible if there were some way out of the room that was hidden from plain sight -- but Sebastian’s sight was better than anyone’s, and try as he might he could find no passage in or out of the room save the door. 

As he went back to the hallway, he noticed that the candle in the sconce directly adjacent from the door was out. Sebastian went upside-down on the ceiling, form altering slightly so his senses were even _sharper_ and tried to scent the lingering smell of smoke. But the amount was so small, that amidst the other candles and the pervasive dust, it was impossible to know how long ago the candle had been extinguished. 

Returning to the floor, Sebastian pulled his glove off and touched the wick with a black-nailed fingertip, until a small flame began to dance merrily on the wax. He then opened and closed the bedroom door from the usual positions -- opening the door from the hallway, closing it from inside as one would do if one were entering the room. 

The candle remained flickering until Sebastian opened the door from inside the bedroom to the hallway, and then the sudden change in air pressure caused it to extinguish. That could have happened when he and Ciel left for dinner, but a quick examination of the candle compared to the others that were still lit showed a similar amount of wax. 

For all intents and purposes, it appeared as if someone had gone upstairs, dragged the armoire over and pushed it down at precisely the right moment, before leaving the premises exactly before the demon they didn’t know was among them showed up to investigate. It seemed impossible for a human, and yet why would a non-human entity need to open and close a door, or drag something across the floor? 

Sebastian scowled. This did not make sense, and that continual sense of _wrongness_ would not let him be. 

He was also not amused by the idea of re-hanging all of Ciel’s clothing in the armoire, which he had taken such pains to clean --

The thought made his eyes narrow, and he went back in to look at the prone piece of furniture. Sure enough, there were no fingerprints or handprints to be found...but Sebastian’s dislike of dust and his fussiness about his master’s wardrobe meant that he’d cleaned the thrice-damned thing until it gleamed. Had a spectral being really been responsible for overturning the armoire, or had Sebastian merely removed the surface upon which any damning evidence could be left? 

Annoyed, he bared his teeth in a hiss, red eyes glowing with malintent as he surveyed the room. Something had pushed the armoire over, whether human or not, and Crain no doubt expected Sebastian to come downstairs and report just that. He would not think Sebastian able of righting the overturned furniture, not without calling for some kind of help or, at the very least, making a racket that -- as they’d learned -- would be heard below. 

Sebastian had ways of moving the armoire that meant he did so quickly and effortlessly, without making a single sound, even when he set it gently back against the wall. He re-hung his master’s clothes with dizzying speed, made certain all was right in the room, and then left. He re-lit the candle on his way downstairs, making it appears as if nothing and no one had disturbed it. 

When he was back in the drawing room, he said with a low bow, “I’m afraid I have nothing significant to report,” he said, with a sideways glance at Ciel. He should know his demon well enough by now to understand that _nothing significant to report_ was not the same as _I didn’t find anything._ He could not lie to Ciel, so if his master ordered him to say exactly what he found, Sebastian would have to do so. 

It would be amusing, though, to see how Ciel reacted to his true findings. Throwing his young master an unexpected variable or obstacle was always entertaining, but Sebastian was sufficiently vexed enough at being _himself_ stumped by the occurrences in this strange manor that he restrained himself. “The room is exactly as we left it when we made our way to dinner, my lord.” 

Because Sebastian had righted it thusly a few moments ago, this, too, was the truth. 

“I cannot think how such a sound was made,” he finished, senses alert for Crain’s reaction. 

Interestingly enough, Crain’s face showed none of the thwarted disappointment Sebastian expected. Instead, a strangely satisfied expression flickered briefly in Crain’s deep-set eyes before Ciel spoke and Sebastian’s attention was drawn to his master like a raven’s to a glint of shining metal. 

“You’re quite certain?” The pitch of his words told Sebastian that his hidden message had been acknowledged and accepted, at least for now, though his exposed eye was narrowed in irritation. 

“Indeed, my lord,” Sebastian said with a small bow.

“Fine.” 

“I pray you, don’t worry, Lord Phantomhive,” Druitt soothed. “Mysterious thumps and sounds are a common occurrence in haunted houses. I’d pay it no mind.” Beside him, Lady Helena was nodding in agreement. 

Ciel’s fingers clenched around the arm of his chair before deliberately relaxing. To Druitt, he gave the boyish, almost sweet, smile that Sebastian privately ranked among the most dangerous of his expressions. “I suppose there was a time I might have been scared by the odd bit of thumping,” he said in a wistful voice. Then he stood, smile flickering out beneath the coldness of his visible eye. “I assure you, however, it takes far more than _that_ to frighten me.” This last bit he spoke to Crain, voice hard with a challenge. 

The corners of Crain’s eyes crinkled, and he gave a little nod of his head. “From all that Her Majesty has told me of her watchdog, I would expect nothing less.”

“I’m tired,” Ciel announced, turning pointedly from Crain to retrieve his walking stick from its resting place against his armchair. “I’m going to bed.” 

“Will you be alright alone up there in this dreary house?” Theodore asked. The concern in her voice sounded genuine. “Perhaps one of us should accompany you?”

“I’ll go,” Lady Helena chirped, half rising to her feet. 

“No!” Ciel snapped before remembering his manners. “Thank you.” He gave a slight bow in her direction. “I assure you, I’ll be quite fine. Good night, everyone.” Turning, he strode out of the drawing room, leaving Sebastian to trail like a shadow behind him. 

* * * 

“What was it really?” Ciel demanded, the second Sebastian shut the door to his room behind them. 

He frowned as Sebastian described the fallen armoire, insisting the demon pull it out again so he could examine it for himself. While Sebastian knelt, the armoire held easily in front of him, Ciel ran his fingers over the wooden back of it with all of the care any of the detectives in his favorite novels might employ. He even bid Sebastian to lift it higher so he could give the preternaturally cobweb-free bottom the same thorough examination as the back. Finally, Ciel was forced to admit Sebastian’s initial assessment had been correct -- the armoire was perfectly ordinary.

“I don’t like this,” Ciel said, dropping onto the bed which, he noticed, had been thoroughly dusted and fitted with clean linens since the last time he saw it. “As ridiculous as this manor is, I thought for sure Crain would have invisible threads running across the ceilings and hidden rooms behind all the portraits. You’re sure you didn’t see anything?”

“Nothing, my lord,” Sebastian said, moving towards him to being preparing Ciel for bed. “I suppose it is possible for someone to have vacated the room before I arrived upstairs, given the slight delay between hearing the sound and your instructions to investigate.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Possible, but not likely. And my senses did not detect a human presence nearby when I was investigating, which is even more troublesome.” 

Sebastian knelt in front of Ciel and began undoing the buttons on his coat. “It appears we have a genuine mystery, my lord.” He still sounded disgruntled. “It would be rather interesting, if it were not so....dusty. I have no notion why Crain would think denizens of the spirit world would wish to wallow in it like sows in the mud.” 

“I cannot believe Her Majesty puts up with such filth,” Ciel said, obligingly raising his arms so Sebastian could slide the coat off him.

“She is not required to live amongst all the dust,” Sebastian said, folding the coat neatly and beginning to defly unfasten Ciel’s shirt. “I imagine the spirits would not be nearly as welcome at Buckingham Palace.” 

Sebastian frowned as he continued undressing Ciel. “I am beginning to wonder if some of the other guests are in on this drama as well. Perhaps tomorrow I shall attempt to question the other servants.” 

“Do it tonight,” Ciel said, holding his bare arms above his head in anticipation of his cotton nightshirt. “Why wait?”

Sebastian cocked his head at him thoughtfully. “Does my lord not wish me to stay this evening, so as to protect him from any….unearthly visitors?” The slightest of smirks graced his mouth. “I should hate for the unquiet dead to disturb my young master’s rest.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ciel said, the words a bit muffled as Sebastian tugged the nightshirt over his head. “From the way Mr. Spears carries on, I suspect any soul that managed to evade a reaper’s death scythe would only get gobbled up by one of your kind.”

“ _Gobbled up_ , young master?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, reaching for the strings on Ciel’s eyepatch. He gave them a gentle tug, pulling the tie apart. “What a colorful imagination you have, but I like to think I go about the process a bit more _gracefully_ than that.” 

“I should hope so. A Phantomhive’s soul ought to be savored.” 

Sebastian paused for a moment, then reached out and brushed Ciel’s mussed hair away from his face with gentle fingers. He gave Ciel a slow, thoroughly malevolent smile and said, “And so it shall be, my young lord.” He rose to his feet with his usual fluid grace and turned the covers back on the bed. 

Ciel climbed into bed, snuggling down into the pillows as Sebastian arranged the covers over him. He hadn’t expected much comfort from this bed, but the down pillows cradled his head as perfectly as his own did, even smelling faintly of the lavender-scented laundry soap Mey Rin used. In fact, now that he thought about it, Ciel wasn’t entirely certain these _weren’t_ his own pillows. However, he didn’t bother to question Sebastian about them. It was only a butler’s duty to see to his master’s comfort, after all.

“Leave a book on the nightstand, and a candle and matches,” he instructed. “That will keep me busy if I have trouble sleeping. If I need anything else, I’ll call for you.”

Sebastian nodded politely. “Of course, young master. Although I do hope you will remember that this current investigation requires full use of your considerable mental faculties, and keep in mind how lack of sleep tends to muddle them. I should hate for you to miss a vital clue due to your habit of late-night reading.” 

There wasn’t a hint of a smirk on Sebastian’s features, but he pulled a book seemingly out of nowhere and set it on the bedside table beside the single candle, then bowed. “If you insist, perhaps this will inspire instead of tire, my lord.” 

Gilded letters along the book’s spine spelled out _The Boy Detective, or The Crimes of London_. Ciel harrumphed at the poor joke, but didn’t complain. Sebastian the tutor plied him constantly with classics, but Sebastian the butler knew Ciel preferred the detective and adventure stories printed in the penny dreadfuls, and was prepared to indulge him now and then.

Sebastian placed a box of matches on top of the book. “Have a pleasant evening. If I find anything that cannot wait until morning, I shall wake you. Sleep well.” 

Sebastian’s eyes glowed softly in the darkness as he blew out the candle. 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Several hours later, Sebastian left Ciel’s room after successfully comparing notes about the evening’s entertainment, and preparing his young master for bed. He also received the expected admonishment for not telling Ciel about the Viscount Druitt’s attendance, and as Sebastian had been told never to lie to his young lord, didn’t bother apologizing for it. 

Now he was free to conduct a more thorough investigation; unless there really were ghosts in the manor, he was free to move about as he liked and did not require sleep. Which was a very good thing, considering how abysmal his own accommodations were. The amount of dust was even worse in his own small bedroom than in Ciel’s -- but not, Sebastian noticed, in places like the highest shelf in the closet, or atop the windowsill, or any other place where it would be assumed he was unable to investigate. 

Where did one even purchase dust? Sebastian sneezed again, the sound slightly less inhuman than earlier but still somewhat jarring -- even to him. His eyes narrowed. The dust bothered him on a level that went beyond aesthetics; demons were not accustomed to being mussed, and it was one of very few things Sebastian found intolerable in any form. 

He made certain he was free of the substance as he left his room, senses heightened as he carefully made his way down the servant’s hallway. He could tell that Lucas was not in his room, and it didn’t take a demon with enhanced perception to figure out where _he_ was. 

He wondered how close Druitt’s chambers were to Ciel’s, if his master would hear the two of them...and if he would even recognize what it was, exactly, he was hearing. Ciel was not ignorant of such things (especially given his experiences in the cult), and Sebastian found the idea of his young master being made uncomfortable by that particular scenario quite enticing indeed. 

Sebastian pressed his tongue against the back of his fangs. Ciel’s discomfort was always enjoyable, but now was not the time to indulge in such pleasures. Merricat’s door was closed, but Sebastian could tell she was inside -- and that she was crying, quietly, so that no one would hear her. 

_Illicit sex, deception, the sweetness of human misery...if it weren’t for the dust, I might not want to leave._

Sebastian waited until he could feel the young maid’s misery reach a crescendo, and then deliberately knocked on the door. “Miss Merricat?” 

Ah. Now her misery was flavored with humiliation and the sharp scent of fear, and Sebastian drank the gloom of her fragile human feelings as if it were a fine wine. He knocked again. “Miss Merricat, it is Sebastian.” 

Despite his demonic essence feeling a bit like a cat basking in a sunbeam, his voice was kind, gentle. “Is everything all right?” 

The door cracked slightly. “M-Mister Sebastian,” she said, voice tear-choked, trying not to sniffle. “I’m...fine.” 

“Are you certain? You sounded as if you were distressed.” It would have been impossible for anyone without Sebastian’s senses to even know she was in the room at all, much less crying. 

She opened the door a little more. “I’m just...I don’t think I know what I’m doing,” she said, face tear-stained and flushed red, eyes a little swollen. She sniffled. “I’m tryin’ so hard to do the right thing, but I don’t...m’not good at it, I’ll just end up peeling potatoes again, I _know_ it.” 

Sebastian patted her on the shoulder, making a comforting noise. “There, there, now, you’re doing a fine job. Miss Theodore is an actress, and I imagine she is just as uncomfortable being around all these high born lords and ladies, and yet you wouldn’t know it, would you?” 

She shook her head, slowly, her eyes very wide. “N-no, sir. I guess you w-wouldn’t.” 

“Well, then, Miss Merricat. It seems this is an opportunity to learn how to behave as fits a lady’s maid, from an actress who is pretending to be a lady.” Sebastian took his handkerchief from his tailcoat pocket, and reached out to gently dab at her tears. 

The girl’s soul was terribly uninteresting, as drab as her features; even the momentary spark of her misery failed to provide any spice to her essence. Her misery was heartfelt and yet so terribly common. Humans were really rather predictable creatures, no wonder he had grown tired of dining so indiscriminately upon them. 

Sebastian had tasted enough human insecurity to last him the whole of eternity. No wonder he much preferred Ciel’s soul to this insipid girl’s...it wouldn’t even occur to his young master to feel inferior in the first place, much less go and cry about it. 

“I shall be more than happy to assist you in your duties, if you like,” Sebastian offered, and it was so easy to manipulate his human features into a warm smile, to speak kindly and immediately set her at ease enough that she stepped back and admitted him into her room. 

_Stupid little lamb, letting the wolf into your pen._

“I shall leave the door open,” Sebastian offered, stepping across the threshold. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think unkindly of you, were they to hear us conversing.” 

Merricat made a choked sound like a giggle. “I don’t meant to be improper, Mister Sebastian, but I might not mind that Miss Linnie thinkin’ I got myself good and seduced by an earl’s butler. Don’t mind pretendin’ one bit, no sir, not if you don’t mind her thinkin’ you’d care to seduce a simple girl like me.” 

Sebastian’s smile turned a bit more wicked. _You don’t want to know what I’d rather do, lambkin._ “Let her think as she will, Miss Merricat. It doesn’t bother me a bit. Now,” he asked, stepping into the room, “I’m curious as to what you know about this house, and its previous owner, since you are from the area.” 

“They said he owed a lot of money to people in London,” she said, eyes wide. “Bad people, too, or so I heard. ‘Course, my mam says that’s the only kind of people they got in London. Guess she figures all the decent folk stayed out here in the country.” 

“Nonsense,” Sebastian responded, tapping her lightly on the nose in a playful sort of gesture. “There are bad people everywhere.” 

His smile was as affable as always, but it in no way reached the cold scarlet gleam of his eyes. But she had already lowered her gaze, and did not see. 

On his way out of her room, he paused to ask, “Do you think there are ghosts here? It all seems so...contrived.” 

“What’s that, then?” 

“Contrived. As if on purpose,” Sebastian explained. He waved vaguely towards the furniture. “Rather dusty, is it not?” 

She shrugged. “Guess so. Big houses always are, I thought. Drafty, too. But I don’t know about ghosts. Maybe people that live in grand houses want to stick around after they’re dead, but I don’t fancy spending my afterlife in a kitchen.” 

It was easy to see that Merricat’s motivation for being here was exactly as she said -- an opportunity to better her circumstances and move up in the world. She wasn’t particularly clever enough to be deceitful, and for a moment Sebastian saw a glimpse of her true soul--not nearly the spicy ambrosia of Ciel’s, but simple and pure all the same. His mouth watered, but he ignored his baser instincts as she said in a halting voice, “My lady...Miss Theodore...she prefers women.” 

Predictably, she blushed scarlet at saying this. Sebastian never did understand humans and their strange categorization of sex; some acts were acceptable, some were not…it seemed to him to miss the point. “Perhaps you should endeavor to seduce her.” 

Merricat made a completely unnecessary shrieking noise and giggled a bit wildly. “I couldn’t! I wouldn’t even know how. But she is awful pretty, Miss Theodore. And such nice dresses and things.” She sounded a bit wistful, then said, “It’s easier to think about liking women that look like _that_. All I got around are birds like Miss Linney.” 

That surprised a laugh from him, and for a moment, he actually liked her. His tongue pushed against his fangs again. “Speaking of Miss Linney, I do believe I hear her in the hallway.” He reached up and mussed up his hair, undid the first button on his starched collar and winked at her. 

“How can you hear her all the way in the hall?” Merricat asked, suspicious. “Same way you could hear me cryin’ in here? I’m quiet about it. Growin’ up with three sisters, you learn to be.” 

Perhaps she was more clever than he thought. Humans did occasionally surprise him, and he supposed if they weren’t at least somewhat interesting, he wouldn’t want anything to do with them. 

“We all have our talents, Miss Merricat.” Sebastian bowed, and let himself out into the hallway. 

Miss Linney, who was making her way down the hallway carrying a lantern, made a rather embarrassing squawking noise at finding Sebastian in the hallway. “Why, I -- what in the devil are you doing, skulking about in the dark?” 

Sebastian reached up and fastened his collar, very deliberately. 

She snorted. “You must’ve been hard up, then. Plenty of better options for a fancy earl’s butler than a kitchen maid.” 

“I’m afraid you were nowhere to be found,” Sebastian murmured, his smile showing a bit of fang. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, neither amused or offended by his attempt at witty repartee. “I guess they’re all the same in the dark. It’s none of my business what you get up to, you lecherous butler, but you leave my Lady Helena alone, you hear?” 

Privately, Sebastian thought Lady Helena had eyes for only person here, and that was not him. Not that Ciel would notice, as he never did seem to pick up on anyone thinking he was attractive, and any cleverly-hidden offers of evening companionship sailed right over his head. 

Still. The thought of Ciel actually noticing for once had the predictable result of Sebastian considering doing exactly what he was being told not to. He could do it, if he so wished -- he could seduce _anyone_ , even Miss Linnie, if he were of a mind to. 

It would be far more entertaining to watch Ciel’s utter obliviousness, or his disastrous attempts at flirting, though. 

“I assure you, Miss Linnie, I give my attentions only to those who express interest in receiving them.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you do. You’re a man, and all men are like tomcats. You best hope she doesn’t track you down in nine months time and foist a brat on you, you being as respectable as you are.” 

Sebastian’s grin was sly, and unlike Merricat, Linnie had no problem meeting Sebastian’s gaze -- which meant she might have seen the way his eyes gleamed briefly in the dark. Or maybe not...humans could be stubborn when it came to seeing things they did not believe in. 

_Like ghosts._

“Were you looking for ghosts?” Sebastian asked, falling into step beside her -- much to her dismay -- as she headed presumably back to her room. He wondered where she’d been. 

“Ghosts. Ha! I don’t care a lick about ghosts, Mister Sebastian. Only people who got time to worry about the dead are rich lords like Lord Crane, who don’t do nothing but sit around in fancy clothes and play board games by themselves. The rest of us are too busy workin’ to take note of such nonsense. Ghosts.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m too busy servin’ the living. The dead can all go to hell.” 

Sebastian rather liked Linnie. Her soul wasn’t pure like Merricat’s, and it wasn’t the tormented, intricately woven soul of his young master’s...but it was tough. Like dried meat, the jerky he sometimes gave to Finnian to keep him working longer without stopping to eat. 

(Keeping the other servants out of the kitchen made for a much more pleasant day.) 

Not tasty, this woman’s soul, but filling. 

It was strange that he was thinking so much about this. Sebastian wasn’t starving, not by any means, and the only soul that would sate his hunger was Ciel’s. It was the way of things, when under a contract to a human master. And Sebastian had been sentient long enough to learn self-control, even if he could avail himself of other souls at the moment. 

Strange. 

“Playing board games by himself?” Sebastian queried, before Miss Linney could leave him standing in the hallway. 

“I was down in the kitchen, gettin’ things ready for tomorrow -- some of us work for a livin’, Mister Sebastian, and we make tea instead of tupping maids -- and I went to find a lantern, since Lord Crane thinks gaslight hurts the spirit’s eyes or some nonsense and took them all off the walls. Who does that, I ask you? I’ll tell you who. Rich folk who don’t have sense. Anyway, I left one in the dining room and on my way back upstairs, I see the old Lord of the Spirits himself, sittin’ at a round table and messin’ about with something that looked like a board game, I don’t know, I don’t have time to play games.” 

Sebastian didn’t need to ask what room -- it was probably the one he’d inadvertently wandered into, earlier. And perhaps it wasn’t a game with which he was playing (not literally, at any rate) but a planchette? 

“Get off to bed, because if you oversleep I won’t be bringin’ your master tea, or that little Merry Hussycat’s actress, either.” She clucked again. “What kind of house is this? Not fit for a God-fearing woman, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“I don’t disagree with you there,” said Sebastian. “Pleasant dreams, Miss Linney.” 

“Hmph,” she groused, and closed the door in his face. 

* * * 

Sebastian quietly let himself into Ciel’s room, despite not having anything to report that couldn’t wait until morning. He was still unsettled by the incident with the armoire, and his first priority would always be Ciel’s safety. 

The rest of the inhabitants in this strange, _dusty_ house were of no real concern. Neither were the spirits who were supposedly intermingling with the living (and the damned), as one piece of overturned furniture and some knocking about certainly didn’t prove the manor was infested with ghosts. 

But there was something raising his hackles, and his dark and increasingly violent thoughts were not in themselves unusual, but their frequency and vividness _were_. Sebastian was a demon but he was not lacking self-control; as he’d told Ciel earlier, he was not the type to gobble, nor was he given to senseless violence that would actively work against his contractor’s wishes. That he was tempted to revert to the more bestial aspects of his true nature was, in itself, somewhat worrying. The thought that something unseen was causing those instincts to stir was infuriating. He was no half-sentient creature snarling in the shadows, and if he was going to tear any of these humans apart, it would be in Ciel’s defense or on his orders. No other reason was acceptable. 

At first glance, the room seem undisturbed -- no rogue furniture lying haphazardly about -- but he could see the figure on the bed ( _and how small his young master looked, when he was asleep_ ) was moving, shifting around under the covers, and that gave Sebastian a moment’s pause. 

There were several things that Ciel could be doing, but one he rejected outright (he would know if anyone were in the room with Ciel, or if anyone had dared lay hands on his master), one seemed unlikely (the only scent he was catching was Ciel’s, the normal spicy-bitterness of his young master’s delectable soul), and that left only the third. 

Sebastian moved soundlessly towards the bed, remembering Ciel when he’d been locked up in the prison of his own mind and how his small form had trembled with fear -- 

Trapping a growl, Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he saw Ciel shivering beneath the blankets and tugging at them as if he could wrap himself up tighter and thus be warm. 

The room was a normal temperature, exactly the same as his master preferred at home when he was sleeping. Sebastian tugged off one glove with his teeth, leaning down to place a hand on Ciel’s forehead. The young master probably had a fever, and if the dust was responsible for his master suffering an asthma relapse, then Sebastian was going to rethink his earlier vow not to rend any limbs because that was simply unacceptable. 

But Ciel’s skin wasn’t too hot, it was _chilled_. Though Sebastian could detect no reason for the change in temperature, he nevertheless had to do something about it. It would not do for Ciel to become ill while investigating this absurd farce of a spiritualist gathering. Sebastian was hungry, to be sure, but his young master’s soul wasn’t quite at the point where it was ready to be savored, and Sebastian would settle for nothing less. 

There was a soft sound as his wings unfurled in the darkness, blocking the faint light coming through the drawn window drapes. It wasn’t difficult for him to get in bed with Ciel -- nightmares came rather easily to his young master -- but this particular one was not there to torment. 

Sebastian arranged himself around Ciel’s shivering form, drawing him closer and enfolding him within the span of his wings. If there was anything that meant his young master harm lurking in the shadows, it would take one look at the thing sheltering Ciel in the bed and go scuttling back from whence it came. 

The shivers wracking Ciel’s thin frame gradually begin to lessen. Sebastian could feel his master’s breath against his wings, and the sensation made his teeth sharpen and his eyes blaze as hot as a furnace; but Ciel slept on, undisturbed, and did not wake. 

* * * 

Usually, Ciel did not wake until Sebastian drew back his curtains, and even then only reluctantly, his body exhausted from a fitful sleep filled with nightmares of flaming houses and cold cages, greedy hands and slippery blood. This morning, though, he’d apparently managed to wake before Sebastian’s arrival, judging from the cool darkness beyond his eyelids. For once, he couldn’t recall any nightmares, only a gentle rain of obsidian feathers, a black boat rocking him to and fro. A strange sense of peace still lingered from those dreams. For once, he felt completely rested -- and deliciously warm. 

Last night, he’d noted the bed with its familiar pillows was nearly as comfortable as his own at the manor. This morning, he found himself thinking that perhaps this bed was even better. Indeed, he was tempted to have Sebastian procure an identical mattress for him. His entire body felt cradled, cocooned in warmth. Even the dawning stirring of his adolescent body (a new and embarrassing phenomenon, for all that Sebastian assured him it was normal for boys his age) pressed against something warm and firm. Half asleep, Ciel rocked his hips into it instinctively, letting out a soft moan of contentment at the sensation. He ground himself against it again, harder this time, shifting his body so his hips could move more freely. Then his cheek brushed the cold, hard edge of a button, and he froze. 

Ciel’s mind, still sleepy and muddled from a long night’s rest, began to put together other discrepancies. Sebastian had pulled quilts over him last night, but the feathery softness covering him had the weight and warmth of down. His cheek, on the other hand, rested on something much firmer than down, which smelled, not of lavender laundry soap, but faintly of brimstone. It vibrated faintly beneath him, a strangely comforting sensation that reminded Ciel of a cat purring. And Ciel’s other cheek, the one facing upwards, was being gently caressed, a warm thumb tracing rhythmic circles over the flesh. 

Ciel’s eyes snapped open to see Sebastian’s scarlet ones glowing down at him from the darkness, clearly enthralled. 

“Good morning, young master.” His voice was a strange, discordant sound echoing oddly in the cocoon of his wings -- not particularly vicious or threatening, but clearly inhuman. 

Heat flared in Ciel’s cheeks as he realized that he lay curled, quite comfortably, against Sebastian, his head resting on the demon’s chest and Sebastian’s arms and wings wrapped tightly around him. The fine wool of Sebastian’s trousers tickled his bare skin where their legs tangled together, and the sole of Sebastian’s stockinged foot gently stroked the top of his own bare one. In sleep, one of Ciel’s hands had latched onto the lapel of Sebastian’s tailcoat. The other had buried itself in Sebastian’s feathers, unconsciously stroking them. Most damning of all, Ciel had thrown his bare leg over Sebastian’s fine wool trousers, and his morning erection was rubbing, quite instinctively, against the firm muscle of Sebastian’s thigh. 

With a yelp, Ciel scooted backwards on the wide bed, shoving the demon away as hard as he could. “What are you _doing_?!” His voice broke the quiet of the morning, and he hastened to lower it lest Crain or one of his other guests should hear. “I did not give you permission to . . . to join me in bed!” 

Sebastian made a wholly irritated sound, rather like a chirp, as he was pushed away. His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly displeased at -- very literally -- having his feathers ruffled in such a fashion. “You were shivering, and there was no discernable reason for you to have been as chilled as you were.” His clarion voice was slowly returning to normal, but still vibrated with inhuman tones. “I could find no other way to warm you, and yet remain assured of your continued safety. Nor did I think it wise to awaken you...young master.” 

There was a bit too much of a hiss on the _s_ , and Sebastian’s fangs, usually only visible when he smiled, were far more prominent than usual. 

Ciel scowled, remembering again the feelings of warmth and safety that had comforted his usually-turbulent dreams. “Next time, you _are_ to wake me! I’ll decide which measures you should take! Likely a cup of hot tea and an extra blanket would have worked just as well as you . . . cuddling me!” The tips of his ears and the back of his neck burned with embarrassment and anger, but Ciel managed to keep his voice from wavering. It occurred to him, for the first time, how ridiculous a tableaux they must make, he kneeling at the edge of the bed in his nightshirt and Sebastian still sprawled out on the mattress, wings unfurled, still dressed impeccably in his butler’s uniform, minus the shoes, without even a wrinkle to hint he’d spent the night in Ciel’s bed. 

Sebastian _did_ smile at that, fangs flashing briefly, but his eyes were still glowing ember-bright. “And if the source of your discomfort was not so easily banished, my lord? Would you ask your demon to warm you, or would your pride lead you to suffer in silence? I could not risk your becoming ill, young master. It violates both our contract and your orders, which included remaining _at your side._ ” 

Sebastian rose to his feet, wings splayed at his side briefly before he drew them in and folded them neatly behind him. He looked momentarily strange and terrifying, utterly inhuman, before the wings melted back into the darkness that surrounded him, the glow of his eyes dimming as they did so. It left him looking much the same as always, neatly put together, the perfect butler. 

_And you would love it if I asked you to hold me, wouldn’t you?_ Ciel thought, remembering Sebastian’s mocking words when he’d asked him to stay in his room until he fell asleep. Sebastian always delighted in pointing out Ciel’s moments of weakness. Realizing that he had, without meaning to, drawn back into the dubious shelter of the footboard, Ciel straightened his shoulders, looking Sebastian straight in the eye. 

“By my side does _not_ mean in my bed. Only filth like the Viscount Druitt would order a servant to share his bed with him. I am the Earl of Phantomhive.” Ciel lifted his chin a fraction. “My pride is my affair, not yours.” 

That flash of fangs gave Sebastian’s smile a rather sinister look, but he sounded almost _pleased_ when he responded. “Indeed, my lord, your demon sought only to protect you, not to offer insult to your pride or your person.” His eyes gleamed. “Though I should point out I do not think the Viscount need order his servant anywhere -- from my investigations while young master slept, it seems as if Druitt’s valet was quite pleased to be exactly where he was.” 

Ciel’s cheeks flushed hot for an entirely different reason. “Spare me the details of your spying unless they’re relevant to the case! What has got into you here, anyway? If Baldoroy or Lau had said something like that, you’d have clapped your hands over my ears.” 

“You did bid me investigate and report my findings,” Sebastian said, infuriatingly literal as always. “And were this Lau or Baldoroy, the report would have been delivered with far too many lewd gestures and inappropriate language. You are certainly of an age to know what adults do in bed together, my lord, even if I do not wish you to be regaled with graphic depictions thereof...and by a soldier or an opium dealer, at that.” 

“I _know_ what people do in bed,” Ciel muttered darkly. “And out of it.” Privately he could not fathom why anyone would voluntarily choose to participate in activities such as those he’d been subjected to in the cage, but he wasn’t about to tell Sebastian that. 

Sebastian’s mocking smile faded as he regarded Ciel with sudden intensity. “While I understand young master is not pleased with me for my… _caretaking_ , perhaps we should concern ourselves with the matter at hand -- namely, that the source of your nocturnal chills remains unknown.” 

Grateful for the change of subject, Ciel turned his mind to the problem. “You’re certain the room itself was not abnormally cold?” At Sebastian’s affirmation, Ciel ordered him to lift the bed that they might inspect the floor beneath. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for -- a hidden vent, maybe, or even a block of ice, probably now melted. But the wooden planks beneath the bed concealed not so much as a single dustbunny, thanks to Sebastian’s cleaning yesterday. Neither did the ceiling above the bed reveal anything unusual, nor the bed itself. Finally, Ciel sighed, and had Sebastian return the room to normal. 

“Perhaps I simply grew cold,” he said with a shrug. It wasn’t entirely out of the question. He had, after all, been an extremely sickly child, who had struggled with poor circulation. His recent asthma attacks and the chemical exposure in Germany might simply have brought about a delayed resurgence of his old illness. As much as he loathed the idea, it did seem most likely. Certainly it made more sense than any supernatural origin for the chill. 

“Perhaps.” Sebastian eyed him consideringly for a moment, then said, almost stiffly, “There is something here that I do not like, young master. I am...not sure what I am sensing, but I do not think it human in origin.” It was as close to a grudging admission as Sebastian ever came. “I have seen nothing supernatural, but it is a rather disquieting sensation nonetheless. I am afraid I cannot simply dismiss your chills last night as easily as you might like.” 

To be continued . . .

**Author's Note:**

> All the Shirley Jackson references are definitely intentional, because the authors love her madly. 
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this first chapter, there's more to come! :D


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